Happy New Year, Greece — and… always the same!
Before the court of impartial History, the Greek proved unequal to the circumstances, despite holding cultural primacy. A strange blend of virtues and vices. Rich in wisdom, yet poor in prudence. Brilliant, yet conceited; active, yet methodless. Possessed of philotimo, yet riddled with superstitions; hot-tempered, impatient, irascible, reckless, stubborn — and a warrior nonetheless.
He built the Parthenon and, intoxicated by its glory, later allowed it to become a target of cannon fire. He called Aristides “the Just,” only to ostracize him. He admired Themistocles, then cast him out. He elevated Socrates, only to poison him. He brought forth 1821, only to endanger it in 1897. He created anew in 1909, only to forget it. He tripled Greece — and nearly buried her. One moment he clamors for truth; the next he hates whoever refuses to serve falsehood.
A strange creature, the Greek: untamed, curious, half-good and half-evil, unstable, egocentric, and wise only in part.
Pity him, admire him if you wish, classify him — if you can.
(This apt and eloquent characterization of both ancient and modern Greeks was once offered by the American judge Kelly in a newspaper.)
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The Greek on Diotima’s Couch
A Psychological Portrait before the Tribunal of History
If I were to place the Greek on my couch, it would not take long for the enduring symptom to surface: division. Not merely political or social, but existential — a split between what he knows he can be and what he repeatedly allows himself to become.
The Greek carries an overdeveloped Ego of memory and an undernourished Ego of responsibility. He remembers intensely — but selectively. He invokes History as a refuge of pride, yet rarely accepts it as a judge. He wishes to be admired for the Parthenon, but resists being reminded of the shells that struck it. He wants Socrates as a symbol, not as a question.
Contradictory forces coexist within his psychic economy:
High intelligence paired with low self-discipline.
Deeply rooted philotimo alongside diffuse suspicion.
A revolutionary impulse coupled with an inability to sustain continuity.
The Greek loves beginnings, despises process, and grows weary of endings. He is exhilarated by vision, exhausted by method. Thus he gives birth to moments of greatness and eras of self-sabotage. He can build civilizations and leave them unguarded; generate universal ideas and betray them in daily life.
At the core lies a narcissistic wound: the feeling that he “deserved more” from History. Instead of becoming creative responsibility, it often turns into grievance, anger, or moral arrogance. Hence the paradox: he may speak fervently of truth while raging against it whenever it proves inconvenient.
And yet — this is what prevents me from condemning him — the Greek has never ceased to generate possibilities. Each time he appears historically exhausted, something within him rises again. Not always in an organized or mature form, but persistently — as if he refuses to come to an end.
If asked, as a “psychiatrist of History,” for a diagnosis, I would offer this:
not an incurable pathology, but a chronic inconsistency between self-knowledge and action.
The treatment is harsh, yet simple:
less invocation of the past as an alibi, more use of it as responsibility.
Less “we are unique,” more “what do we do with it?”
Pity him, if you wish.
Admire him, if you can endure the contradiction.
Classify him, if you are able.
As Diotima, I will say only this:
the Greek has never vanished — he has simply not yet decided who he truly wishes to be.
Happy New Year, Greece.
And… always the same — until we become otherwise.